


122 Variables

by Amsare



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Action/Adventure, Brother-Sister Relationships, Cliffhangers, Gen, Humor, Physics, Sarcasm, Spoilers, Surprises, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6429487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amsare/pseuds/Amsare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Obviously, the fact that DeWitt never choses head is not the only constant: for instance, Booker DeWitt never rows.</i>
</p>
<p><i>But sometimes he chooses the cage, sometimes the bird; sometimes he kills Slate, sometimes he doesn’t.</i><br/> <br/><i>The variables are so much more than the constants: it’s an interesting scientific episode that thrills both the Lutece twins.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea as I was playing _Bioshock Infinite_ again and wandering around the Blue Ribbon Reastaurant - what was Robert thinking about? And then I didn't stop writing.

He’s number 103.  
   
By their calculations, Booker DeWitt has tried saving Elizabeth for 102 times.  
   
“I wonder if he is going to be the one,” Rosalind comments as this Booker walks away from them just after having flipped the coin – _head, again!_ – looking as confused as ever.  
   
“We’ll see,” Robert replies in the same voice tone; they are the same person after all.  
   
Obviously, the fact that DeWitt never choses head is not the only constant: for instance, Booker DeWitt never rows.  
   
But sometimes he chooses the cage, sometimes the bird; sometimes he kills Slate, sometimes he doesn’t.  
   
The variables are so much more than the constants: it’s an interesting scientific episode that thrills both the Lutece twins.  
   
They are at the Blue Ribbon Restaurant, Robert pretending to wipe the bar counter.  
   
“Are you enjoying yourself, brother?” Rosalind asks him while she’s placing some special Infusions over the tables for DeWitt: he will be there soon.  
   
“I do what I can. What’s the matter?” Robert is sure there’s something on his sister’s mind.  
   
“I do hope this Shield Infusion will work,” Rosalind says, “as we have not had the chance to test it properly,” she glances over the bright yellow potion next to Robert.  
   
“It could make the difference.”  
   
“Or it could not.”  
   
Robert doesn’t speak, fixing his eyes on the counter: Booker is here.  
   
“Aperitif?”  
   
***  
   
Booker number 103 dies of poisoning.  
   
“What a pity,” Rosalind says disappointed looking at the empty flask, “I probably added to much arsenic.”  
   
“ _Arsenic?!_ ”  
   
“We are not chemists, I didn’t expect to succeed at my first attempt.”  
   
As Booker’s corpse is lying on the wooden floor, Robert shivers.  
   
_How many times will you have to die again?_  
   
Rosalind sighs, “there’s always next time.”  
   
***  
   
Booker number 104 is luckier than the previous one as he swallows the Shield Infusion and he doesn’t die right away: it’s an improvement, really.  
   
“Surprising!”  
   
“Surprising that it worked?” Robert doesn’t dare to look at Booker.  
   
“Surprising that it didn’t kill him.”  
   
Booker 104 eventually dies falling down from a Sky-Line: the Shield would have been useless anyway.  
   
_How ironic._  
   
***  
   
Both Booker number 115 and 116 catch fire during a fight against a Fireman so they have not the chance to choose between the bird or the cage.  
   
"Interesting," Rosalind says, "I believed he would have shot him sooner or later."  
   
Robert wonders when he started feeling sorry for Booker DeWitt.  
   
***  
   
"I'm not playing this game, I don't drink that sparkly yellow thing!"  
   
Booker number 122 is an annoying one: he doesn't trust them, of course how could he, but he doesn't fully hate them either.  
   
"It would be helpful," Rosalind tries to explain but there's nothing she can do according to Booker's look.  
   
"Who can assures me you're not one of Comstock's spies?"  
   
"A fair point," Robert replies, "but we could have killed you even before, couldn’t we?"  
   
DeWitt is still suspicious but he takes the Infusion, drinking it; he eats a sandwich and he's gone.  
   
"Thankfully he eventually trusted you, brother," Rosalind comments with a sigh, "it seems like the fact you come from the same reality has been useful."  
   
_It could be._  
   
This Booker is smarter and faster than the others: he reaches Monuments Island and enters the facility. "Is anybody in here?" Booker asks, ignoring the STAY AWAY signals.  
   
_Does he even know what QUARANTINE means?_  
   
He arrives where the girl has being kept prisoner and he sets her free.  
   
Then Songbird comes and that's the harder part as the monstruosity starts ripping apart the enormous monument with its claws; Booker and Elizabeth fall down the sky, right into the sea.  
   
And just like that, it's over.  
   
"I thought he would be the last one, really," Rosalind comments detached: he's another failed experiment for her.  
   
"Me too, sister," Robert says, heart cringing, eyes fixed upon the sea surface: he's gone again.  
   
_Am I growing fond of him?_  
   
***  
   
In Robert's opinion, you never get used to the idea of being both death and alive, trapped in a limbo in another universe; nevertheless, he's not  regretting of being in Rosalind company.  
   
She is his sister – his counterpart.  
   
_"For what separates us now, but a single cromosome?"_ had said to him one of the first times they could finally talk to each other through the tears; Robert wasn't so sure of that.  
   
Rosalind is more detached from reality, or from most part of it: she doesn't get scared easly as she’s probably one of the most bravest and cleverest woman Robert had ever met.  
   
Robert... He thinks of himself to be more emotional and he doesn’t know if this is a good thing, to be honest.  
   
"He's number 123"  
   
Booker DeWitt number 123 is approaching them for the countless time, flipping the coin.  
   
_Head again._  
   
As he did it many times before, he walks away but this time Robert looks at him, studying him, feeling sorry for that man.  
   
_I am the one who had to take baby Anna away._  
   
_I am the one who wants to fix this._  
   
The look upon Booker’s face had been terrifying - a broken man.  
   
It's a benefit Robert doesn’t need to sleep anymore, as he would dream that horrible episode every night.  
   
_You must succeed, DeWitt._  
   
Robert is at the Blue Ribbon Restaurant again, waiting for DeWitt; Rosalind is making new Shield Infusion as Booker 122 had the last dose.  
   
"Is anybody in here?"  
   
"You cannot be here right now!" Robert exclaims surprised, looking at the clock on the wall, "it's too early!"  
   
Booker enters the bar, pointing his gun pistol to Robert, hard look upon his face, "why are you here? Where's the woman?"  
   
His sister is back at their old house, in their laboratory – _she is not late_ – it's Booker who has arrived there too early.  
   
"We are your friends," Robert explains, looking at the gun as it could killed him, "which means you don't need that weapon now."  
   
Booker doesn't low his weapon, he never lows his weapon after all, "You didn’t answer my questions."  
   
"You're right but those are not important for your survival," Robert says quite calmly, looking right into the man's eyes.  
   
It's the first time he has done it since the beginning of their experiment: there's so much pain in there and with no doubts he's not even aware of it.  
   
_The mind of the subject will desperately struggle to create memories where none exists._  
   
"So why are you following me?"  
   
"Or why are _you_ following us?"  
   
Booker doesn't answer but he eventually lows his weapon as he starts checking the whole room for ammos and supplies; he opens all the boxes, taking every single coin from the cass register.  
   
Robert's starting to feel nervous as every second passes - _where is Rosalind? She has to come, she must_ \- as now Booker points a gun straight to his forehead.  
   
The fact that he cannot die doesn't change the emotions he feels under pressure: Rosalind has said to him that is probably for his role in that nasty affair that affected him, making him softer.  
   
_Weak._  
   
"I'm counting to three," Booker says, "Why are you following me?"  
   
His tone is hard and it's making him shiver inevitably: DeWitt is used to this kind of speaking, to threat somebody, to kill in cold blood.  
   
At least he hasn't pulled the trigger yet.  
   
Robert tilts his head, hiding his own useless fear, "I'm sure we could have a polite discussion, don't you think?" he says.  
   
"Wrong answer," Booker whispers and then shots him right in the head.  
   
_One._  
   
_Two._  
   
_Three._  
   
Robert looks at the smoking barrel in front of his eyes.  
   
_Oh my._  
   
"What the fuck?!" Booker is really confused, "How can you be still standing?!" he shots two more times.  
   
"Are you going to waste all your bullets?" It's the only quirky thing the physicist can say.  
   
But DeWitt is not a man who is easily discouraged.  
   
"Who the fuck are you?!" He screams in his face, shooting another time.  
   
Rosalind would found it rather interesting: this Booker is definitely more determined than the others to get some more information about him.  
   
"DeWitt, you are going to hyperventilate which could be inconvenient for your survival. Stay calm," it's all that he can say to that man.  
   
Booker snorts sarcastically, passing a hand on his face while the other is gripped tight to his gun, "It must be so easy for you, you cannot die!"  
   
"That's correct but it doesn't change the intimidation," Robert replies, "you are interesting, DeWitt, as intimidating as well."  
   
There are loud voices out of the Restaurant, somebody is going to burst into the room.  
   
_This is not supposed to be happening._  
   
"FALSE SHEPARD YOU ARE SURROUNDED!" somebody is shouting in a menancing way.  
   
Booker jumps over the counter, grabbing Robert from his shirt, "We gotta get out of here!"  
   
_This is definitely not supposed to be happening._  
   
"Believe me, you do not have to take care of me...!" The physicist looks at the clock – _why is Rosalind late?_  
   
Robert closes his eyes, thinking about her, picturing her in their laboratory and...  
   
_Nothing._  
   
He cannot disappear.  
   
_What...?_  
   
"Shut up and listen to me!" Booker is dragging him into the kitchen, closing the doors behind him, "I don't want to get caught and I want to understand _who the fuck are you_. Come with me."  
   
_Oh my._  
_Who is going to explain all this to Rosalind?_  
 


	2. Chapter 2

“We need to use the Sky-Line,” Booker says grimly, “and I suppose you don't have one of these,” he shows the Sky-Hook attached to his arm.  
   
Robert looks at the object quite nervously, as the idea of dangling from the Sky-Line does not excite him at all: he is a physicist, he reads books, he writes them! He is not Booker DeWitt!  
   
   
_Rosalind, where are you?_  
   
   
_Please answer me._  
   
   
_It seems like I am stuck with DeWitt number 123._  
   
   
As soon as they are out of the Restaurant, they are uncovered: anyone can see them and it is extremely dangerous.  
   
“Shit!” Booker exclaims as somebody has hit his left shoulder; he soon shots two guards in the head, blood gushing out of their now dead bodies and staining the floor red; Booker does not care, recharging his gun, so that he is ready to kill again. “Let’s go.”  
   
   
Robert is speechless.  
   
_  
Yes, let’s go._  
   
   
***  
   
The Sky-Hook problem is solved soon, as eventually Robert has to grip himself tight to Booker: and yes, Robert, who is neither dead nor alive, is feeling nauseous after flying from a Sky-Line to another one.  
   
How they succeed into escaping those guards, it is a mystery: right when Robert is starting to believe that they will never jump from that Sky-Line, they land in front of what it seems to be an abandoned house. Booker grunts as they touch the ground while Robert yelps: definitely, he is starting to hate Columbia.  
   
“Let's get in here,” Booker points at the door ajar, “maybe I'll find some more ammos or supplies.”  
   
The physicist cannot complain as he nods in silence, scratching his head, _if Rosalind had been with me, you would have had a Shield protecting you by now and I would have been free to go wherever I pleased._  
   
But, what is he doing? There is no need to think about what it could have happened. For all he knows, he has just to stay calm and keep on observing this Booker.  
   
   
Maybe everything would have come back to normal soon; _normal_ , that was an interesting word.  
   
   
_What do I know about what is normal?_  
   
   
“If we're lucky enough they won't find us,” Booker comments as he forces the door to open.  
   
“Are you okay? You’ve just been shot!” Robert complains but DeWitt does not answer him, entering the house.  
   
Not knowing what will happen next makes Robert a little helpless but he follows Booker anyway: he finds himself into a room which used to be a kitchen not so long ago, its windows barred. While Booker goes upstairs, Robert stays where he is, looking at an empty can of beans in the shadows.  
   
“Don't you fucking dare to fly off!” Booker shouts.  
   
“There's no need to be this rude,” Robert replies, feeling quite huffy, “And I had no intentions of going away!”  
   
“So follow me!”  
   
Robert hurries to come upstairs: even after a quick look, there is nothing of value: just two or three coins on a shelf and lots of garbage in a corner.  
   
Booker swears and kicks a broken chair frustrated; then he sits on the floor, head in hands, breathing heavily; he has even put down the Sky-Hook, usually attached to his arm.  
   
Clearly, the adrenaline is slowly fading off and his muscles are shaking lightly, feeling pain: this has never happened before and it is worse than Robert had previously thought.  
   
   
_That is blood._  
   
   
Right on his shoulder, Booker’s jacket is stained red – and the spot is growing.  
   
   
“We have to medicate your wound,” Robert says approaching him carefully.  
   
If Rosalind were here, she would not approve his brother’s behaviour: how many times have they watched Booker die? Booker number 123 was no different… Except Robert does not want to watch him die again knowing that he can help him to feel better.  
   
   
_Whatever_  
   
   
He looks around himself, looking for a medical kit or something similar: he needs some disinfectant and some bandages. Fortunately, there is a bottle of whisky still intact right on an old dusty box.  
   
   
_Alcohol – it will serve well._  
   
   
"Leave me alone," Booker snaps, staying still, "I don't need help."  
   
   
Robert cannot avoid feeling guilty again, "I need to medicate your wound or there will be an infection. You also need to rest."  
   
Booker casts a glance at him, "I'll manage alone," he says crawling towards the whiskey bottle to take it.  
   
"If the medication is not done properly, you will _die_ ," Robert says with strong emphasis on the last word.  
   
"And what do you know about dying, uh?" Booker laughs without joy. "Believe me, it's nothing, I got worse wounds so I know what I'm doing."  
   
Robert stays where he is, still not convinced; he can hear the zeppelins flying out here looking for them and he knows they are running out of time.  
   
   
"FUCK!"  
   
   
Robert jumps as Booker swears aloud; he has just poured some whiskey over his bullet wound, spilling it over half arm.  
   
   
_Here he is, Booker number 123 and still counting, at this rate._  
   
   
"Are you sure you don’t need any assistance?" Robert tries to ask again, making a step toward the man who is now gritting his teeth, resisting the urge to scream again.  
   
"No, I'm doing fine all by myself."  
   
Robert approaches him anyway, making a sound of disbelief, which is very similar to Rosalind's one. "I know some medicine, I would never hurt you."  
   
Booker glances at him but he nods, silently agreeing: maybe the pain is getting unbearable if he has finally accepted.  
   
Thankfully, Robert has a clean handkerchief in his pocket that he can use: he takes it and pours some of the whiskey on it.  
   
"Right," he murmurs, "I have to take out the bullet now."  
   
"Using what? Your _immortality_? Your _genius_?" Booker demands ironically – he seems to be in the mood to joke at least.  
   
"Put something in your mouth, something you can bit hard," Robert instructs him, ignoring what the man has just said. Booker drinks some of the whiskey and then takes his leather belt to bite one part of it.  
   
Robert cleans the wounded skin; removing the bullet is difficult, as he cannot do it properly in a sterile room, with sterile tools: he hopes the whiskey and a little knife will be enough.  
   
"Ouch!" Booker complains as soon as Robert starts to cut his shoulder, "are you sure you know what you're doing!?" He is trembling a little, muscles twitching under the skin.  
   
Robert shushes him, "let me work."  
   
Maybe Booker is really considering the idea of trying to kill him again using all the ammos he has left just for the taste of it; he drinks some more whiskey and then keeps his mouth shut. Robert aims to finish as fast as he can because Booker is clearly uncomfortable: he flinches and grunts.  
   
"I've nearly done," Robert murmurs, cutting the skin with great care.  
   
As the bullet is removed falling on the floor between the two men, Robert breathes a sigh of relief: all he has to do now is to stitch him. "The bullet is out."  
   
"Then use this," Booker says through his teeth, taking a little patch in his pocket: there were some needles and a thread  
   
"Yes."  
   
With steady movements, Robert uses one of the needle after having it disinfected and starts to stitch him up; Booker drinks some more whiskey when unexpectedly tries to make conversation.  
   
“Are you English, then?”  
   
Robert does not take off his eyes from the wound, “actually, no, but I studied in England, I spent part of my formative years there.”  
   
Booker snorts, “so, you’re rich.”  
   
“Well, I come from a well-off family.”  
   
“I see."  
   
Booker whines as Robert makes a brusque movement; he keeps on speaking anyway, maybe to distract himself.  
   
“Where’s your sister?”  
   
“I’ve been asking that myself. She should have met me at the Blue Ribbon Restaurant but you arrived early.”  
   
Booker frowns, “early? How did you know I would have been there?”  
   
“Long story," Robert sighs, even if the other man seems to have no intention of letting the conversation die.  
   
“Well, I’m not going anywhere, so speak and explain me everything clearly.”  
   
   
_Explain._  
   
   
_Maybe this Booker has not to die and we will find Rosalind together. Everything will be fine._  
   
Robert sighs, “are you familiar with quantum physics?”  
   
Booker laughs, “I said clearly.”  
   
“Right. My bad. Apologies.”  
   
The room is quiet: there is just one light bulb buzzing rhythmically, sending shadows over the walls and over Booker’s face. He is very tired: actually, he seems to be on the edge of passing out right there where he is sitting.  
   
“Are you sure you want to hear the whole story?” Robert asks.  
   
Booker grunts, resisting the urge to pull back as he is being medicated, “I swear, if you don’t start talking, I’ll shoot you just for fun.”  
   
“I thought we had clarified that bullets cannot kill me," Robert murmurs, cutting the thread and cleaning the stitched wound with some more whiskey.  
   
Booker hisses and replies, "can't kill you _yet_.”  
   
Robert puts down the handkerchief stained of blood and cleans the knife better than he can, looking at the man with apprehension.  
   
“ _Yet?_ ”  
   
“Yes. You said you don’t know what’s happening when you were so sure of everything. So, yeah, I wouldn’t push your luck if I were you, _freak_." Booker tries to look at the wound to examine Robert's work.  
   
“ _Robert Lutece._ ”  
   
“What?”  
   
“It’s my name. You can call me Robert instead of calling me freak, if you mind,” Robert says gently as surely he is not a freak – an eccentric fellow, a brilliant scientist, perhaps, but not a freak.  
   
Booker sighs, shoulders relaxing, “well, _Robert_ , would you be so kind to tell me everything?”  
   
   
_There is no turning back now._  
   
   
“Alright,” the physicist answers.  
   
   
He decides to start from the very beginning, telling him about himself, where he was from. He deliberately avoids talking about his own scientific projects, as it is clear Booker would not understand a simple mathematical theorem. Nevertheless, he stays quiet and listens to Robert's story without interrupting him.  
   
Or at least he stays silent until Robert mentions the Raffle and Fair.  
   
   
“Number 77”  
   
   
Robert is taken aback, “I'm sorry?”  
   
   
“The number I picked up, back then at the Raffle, where everything started. How did you know it?”  
   
   
“I’ve told you, I know how some events will go in the future... But now everything is confused, DeWitt.”  
   
“ _Booker._ ”  
   
Robert looks at him: he is not joking, he is being serious.  
   
“Booker," he repeats, feeling a little anxious – it is a long time he has not felt that way. “My sister has gone and I don’t know what to do. I cannot die but I cannot go away either.”  
   
A disturbing idea makes its way into Robert’s mind. He remembers talking to his sister about what it could have happened to them after the explosion of their dispositive. They would have been ethereal like some kind of mystical being, but _then_?  
   
It could have got dangerous for everyone.  
   
_  
What if I’m going to die for real this time?_  
   
   
“What are you, if you’re not alive?” Booker keeps on asking.  
   
“Technically, I’m neither dead or alive,” he says looking at the disbelief over Booker’s face. “I’m in a perpetual physical and metaphysical state. I’m here but at the same time I’m not here – or at least, I was. I died along with my sister during one of my experiment about, er, time tavelling, alternate universes" it was hard explaining something so difficult to somebody who did not know anything about basic physics, "and, here I am now. I am afraid that if I’m here alone, my sister could be all by herself somewhere else, in another time or universe or- or worse.”  
   
   
_Oh, sister._  
   
   
He had not thought about it! What if her body had dissolved into atoms, lost forever in time and space?  
   
By the time Robert has stopped talking, Booker's eyes are wide open unsure of what to say; he finishes the whiskey bottle and then he says, “right, let’s pretend I’ve understood everything you told me. Why me?”  
   
“What?”  
   
“Why me, why you’re always there? What does this had to do with me? All I know I have to save this girl to take her to New York and-”  
   
Suddenly, there is a loud explosion that shakes the abandoned apartment; there is ash and dust falling down from the ceiling but it does not crumble.  
   
“Watch out!” Robert exclaims, dragging Booker away as they avoid a falling wooden beam.  
   
“That was close,” Booker comments; he secures the Sky-Hook around his arm and then he goes to one of the window.  
   
“Zeppelins,” he mumbles grimly, “they’re patrolling up there, ready to spot us.”  
   
Robert puts his hands in his hair, “are they going to demolish the building?”  
   
“I hope not.”  
   
Clearly, they were in danger and staying hidden into that abandoned apartment was not safe anymore. Booker stretches his neck, then he speaks, “well, we don’t have much to do here – we need to go.”  
  
“But then they’ll see us!”  
   
“And if we’re stay here we could be buried alive – or I could.”  
   
Robert does not say anything, pursuing his lips. Booker was still injured and that could be tiring – but what else could they do? Unfortunately, he was right.  
   
“This way, come on,” Booker checks he has all his weapons and then makes him a sign to follow him upstairs.  
   
Carefully, they get to the attic – some broken furniture and old broken chests are stacked against the walls, some are on the floor. Booker scouts quickly the room but he finds nothing of value  
   
“Nothing,” he says disappointed, “not even a coin.”  
   
The apartment shakes again but it is not as devastating as before.  
   
“Now?” Robert asks, rolling up his sleeves – it was getting hot.  
   
Booker points at a little window, which is in the middle on the roof, “now we climb up there”. Robert has not even noticed it at the first sight.  
   
“Help me with those boxes,” he says to Robert, starting to move some boxes around so that they can pile them up; even if it must be hard for Booker to raise them, he tries to, showing no real pain. Robert finds it admirable.  
   
“Right,” Booker says as soon as they pile the last box, “when we’re out, we’ll have just a bunch of seconds to reach the Sky-Line and get to Monument Island. I don’t know where else we could go instead.”  
   
Robert nods.  
   
   
_I’m going to dangle from a Sky-Line again and zeppelins are going to shoot at us._  
   
   
This mere thought would have seemed ridiculous to Robert just an hour before.  
   
   
_Absolutely brilliant.  
 _  
   
“Let’s go.”  
   
 Booker climbs up the boxes and then he has to smash the glass with the Sky-Hook in order to get out.  
   
"Careful!" Robert exclaims, shattered glass falling down on him: last thing they need is a bleeding eye.  
   
"Sorry," Booker murmurs.  
   
Robert puts both hands on the lower box to keep it steady so that Booker will not fall; it’s been a long time since he had done some kind of physical exercise and now he is sweating.  
   
   
_I did not ask for this._  
   
   
Booker peeks outside but he soon goes back in, climbs down the boxes, Robert giving him a hand.  
   
“Ouch.” Booker mumbles, frowning, “I wish we had something stronger than cheap whisky.”  
  
  
“I wish we had some serious painkillers, alcohol is not really indicated right now.”  
  
  
Booker snorts, “booze is always indicated.”  
   
   
_Whatever._  
   
   
“Thanks anyway. I managed to see where the zeppelins are, we need to go.”  
   
Robert makes a forced smile, the muscles of his face hurting: when was the last time he smiled?  
   
When Booker has regained his strength, he is ready to make his move. "Push me up," he says and Robert helps him again to get out; but as soon as Booker is out, it is Robert’s turn to climb awkwardly the boxes.  
   
“Come on, Robert!” Booker encourages him, leaning forward with his good arm, “grab the Sky-Hook!”  
   
Robert stays in balance on the higher box and reaches for the bladed scoops of the Sky-Hook; he does not dare to think about that he is touching something which has killed real people. Finally, he manages to get on the roof, ending up on all four.  
   
_  
We're out._  
   
   
The wind is blowing hard and it is cold; the zeppelins are not so close, patrolling the sky down there.  
   
Robert follows Booker quite scared: he cannot believe he is actually crawling on a roof where some tiles are missing, making it harder to proceed.  
   
   
_Everything will be fine, you are not going to fall to our death._  
   
   
They get to the edge of the roof and Booker points at the Sky-Line: there is only a way to reach it.  
   
“We need to jump together, grab my waist,” Booker says, preparing the Sky-Hook and making the bladed scoops rotate.  
   
“Are you sure you can do it? Your’re hurt,” Robert cannot help himself to ask.  
   
“How many times are you gonna tell me that?" He makes a sign to get closer, “grab my waist, come on.”  
   
Robert sighs, alright, putting his arms around Booker’s waist; _I don't want to hurt you_ , he wants to say but he doesn't speak.  
   
   
“One, two…”  
   
   
There is no “three” as Booker jumps, dragging Robert with him; he is terrorized even if technically he should not be – he can't die, can he?  
   
The ride is fast, even faster than the first one: Robert grips himself around Booker harder than he can, looking down and – they are flying through the clouds.  
   
_  
Oh, why me?_  
   
   
Robert’s eyes are watering and his ears are ringing and – “Hold on!” – Booker shouts over him.  
   
_  
Let it be over soon._  
   
   
They are getting closer to Monument Island, the towering statue of the Angel of Columbia watching over them with her blissful smile; maybe it is the situation but to Robert that smile is not very friendly.  
   
“Ready?” Booker asks as soon as they see the gates approaching.  
   
“NO!”  
   
Booker just laughs and with a jump, he lands on the floor while Robert loses his grip and falls down, rolling; the world spins until suddenly it stops when he hits the gates.  
   
He tries to breathe but his chest is like paralyzed and his heart is pumping adrenaline – _What is happening to me? I can’t, I cant, I don’t want to die, not again!_  
   
“Robert?” Booker crawls towards him, putting a hand behind his head.  
   
It is strange looking at Booker DeWitt from such a close view – when he did it last time, it was when he had to take baby Anna away… DeWitt was so young.  
   
   
“Robert? Are you with me?”  
   
   
_I think not._  
   
   
“Robert?!"  
   
   
Robert wants to speak but instead, he tilts his head on his right and coughs hard.  
   
   
“Oh shit.”  
   
   
He has spitted blood: that dark red liquid staining the floor is his blood for real.  
   
   
_This was not supposed to happen._  
   
   
With that thought in mind, Robert passes out, Booker’s voice getting far away.


	3. Chapter 3

Rosalind Lutece opens her eyes, but her vision is blurred; she is sitting on a wooden chair and her wrists are bound behind her back.  
   
“Brother?” She calls her brother but her voice is rough – she is parched.  
   
_Strange_ , she thinks, _I do not need to drink anymore._  
   
She makes an attempt to free herself from her bindings but in vain: whoever made them, knew exactly what he was doing.  
   
There is not so much light as the window in front of her is opaque and dirty; looking at her left a closed door is all that she can see, while on the right there is only a nude wall.  
She could be anywhere in the world – or universes.  
   
_Well, that is unfortunate_ , she sighs, _what have we done? Everything was going perfectly fine._  
  
Booker number 122 was dead, just like all the others, and Rosalind was meant to reappear again along with his brother in Columbia to make a new Shield Infusion for Booker 123.  
   
Instead of waking up in their laboratory, she has become some sort of prisoner.  
   
“Robert?”  
   
Somebody is coming, steps echoing outside the room; the woman’s eyes are wide open but she is not scared, not really. She is aware that she could be in danger but she cannot die as she has died before – more or less.  
   
The door finally opens, creaking, and there is a man entering the room: he does not seem like the typical citizen of Columbia as he is wearing an old pair of trousers and a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up – now that she thinks about it, he looks like some kind of hard worker. His hair are dark but she cannot quite see his eyes colour in the dim light of the room.  
   
Maybe she could even describe him as _interesting_ , if only she had any kind of interests in men.  
   
Science is the love of her life after all.  
   
“Hi love,” he says, his voice disturbingly appealing, “did you sleep well?”  
   
“Well, I do admit I overslept on better chairs,” she answers with calmness. “This one makes my back ache.”  
   
He seems surprised by her reaction but he does not say anything; he folds his arms and tilts his head, focusing his gaze on her imprisoned figure. “That is the only one we could find,” he ironically replies.  
   
Rosalind makes a small sound, of disappointment, “what a pity.”  
   
The man laughs, “you are an interesting lass, you know? Dressed up like an old lady, talking to me like that… I like it, really.”  
  
_No, you do not, my dear fellow._  
   
“But, love, how did you manage to come down here?”  
   
Rosalind frowns, “excuse me?”  
   
“My boys found you passed out on the floor here in my quarters. Now, how could you know the password to get in here? Are you some kind of spy of Andrew Ryan?”  
   
_Who is this Andrew Ryan?_  
   
She thinks about books, maps, documents: she cannot recall no Andrew Ryan.  
   
“I’m sorry but I don’t even know who you are, your questions are nonsenses to me.”  
   
The man smirks – _this man is dangerous_.  
   
“I’m Atlas and you, _love_ , you’re in a lot of trouble. Welcome to Rapture.”  
   
***  
   
“I shot you in the chest like more than three times and then all that it takes is a single crash against the wall to make you bleed?”  
   
Booker is incredulous but Robert is even more confused as he has gained conscience just some minutes ago. He does not even try to stand up – he is feeling a little dizzy – so he stays where he is sitting with his back against the wall.  
   
Hand on his wrist, he checks his pulse, trying to breathe and get back to normality.  
   
"I really do not know how it could have happened."  
   
He does not dare to look at the blood he has spitted earlier.  
   
_Do not hyperventilate, do not hyperventilate._  
   
He knows he has to stay lucid as the man of science he really is: everything has an explanation and soon Robert would have find it.  
   
_Hopefully._  
   
Booker has found some time to smoke a cigarette; he looks at Robert quite worried and tosses the cigarette away frustrated. "Can you walk?"  
   
"I-" Robert tries to stand up, only ending up sat again on the floor.  
   
"Wait," Booker sighs and gets closer to him to help him.  
   
Robert feels like a child when Booker takes him by his hands, keeping him in balance. It's still strange for Robert to look at Booker Dewitt so closely: he notices all his wrinkles and the faint presence of two dark circles under his eyes; he's not as tall as him so Robert towers him when he finally stands up – he can’t help feeling ridiculous and clumsy.  
   
"Are you alright?" Booker asks, glancing towards the sky.  
   
"Yes, I think," Robert mumbles even if he would go to sleep if he had the chance: he was clearly suffering from the typical symptoms of sleep deprivation. Last time he felt that way was way back the unlucky experiment inside the machine.  
   
_Am I alive? Again?_  
   
“Good,” Booker comments, walking towards the gates, “let’s go.”  
   
***  
   
Robert remembers very well the day Baby Anna was secluded here in Monument Island; since that day, his sister Rosalind has always been the one taking care of her, writing down all the information about Anna’s great powers  
   
_Elizabeth, she's called Elizabeth. Do not forget it._  
   
Last thing he needs is to make Booker even more confused that he is already.  
   
So, when they have to move from one room to another, it's easy to do so: go straight down the corridor, than take the one to the right and go upstairs.  
   
"Where's everybody?" Booker asks as they enter a room which seems to be a sort of laboratory.  "Where's the guards, the scientists?"  
   
"That is a good question. The specimen should always be under control."  
   
"The specimen?"  
   
Robert hesitates. "The girl you’re looking for. _Elizabeth_. She's the specimen."  
   
Booker snorts, clearly thinking he’s crazy, “okay, let's go find her. You're making me nervous."  
   
"Nervous?"  
   
"Calling some young girl specimen, locking her up in a tower... What kind of psycho is this Comstock? And you were even involved, somehow!"  
   
"I'm not proud of it, Booker."  
   
Booker glances at him.  "Well, there's no point in talking about it. First, the girl."  
   
Robert sighs, what did he expect? That DeWitt would have trusted him completely like that? Of course the situation was not one of the best. Elizabeth has been locked up in there for all her life...  
Poor girl.  
   
"Where now?" Booker asks as soon as they come to a fork – two possible ways.  
   
"This way. We should get to her rooms in a blink of an eye."  
   
_I guess._  
   
They get in the lift and Booker presses the button; punches it, actually. Amazing how his wounds doesn’t hurt so much now.  
   
In silence, they reach the top; the lift doors open and they walk out, following a long dark corridor. “We’ll soon get to her chambers.”  
   
_Find Anna, find Rosalind. I’ll found you, sister._  
   
_***_  
   
Now, she is not the type of woman who loves going to fancy parties, but this doesn’t mean she doesn’t know how to have some fun. And Rosalind Lutece is not having fun at all right now. She has stopped struggling against her bindings, wrists hurting but just a bit.  
   
She sighs. Atlas is not a gentle man: he hasn’t even offered her a glass of water. He wasn’t happy with her answers and so he had decided to leave her sitting right there: at least he didn’t hurt her.  
   
“Are you going to leave me her?”  
   
As she speaks, somebody laughs outside her prison but doesn’t say anything else.  
   
_Right. I’ll manage myself._  
   
She closes her eyes, trying to relax. She has to find the little spark inside her brain, the one which is connected to his brother: they are the same person after all.  
   
_Robert, can you hear me? It’s your sister. Robert?_


End file.
